


Frost Shock

by glitchbugs (Niveously)



Series: The Troll Chronicles [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, Trolls, WotLK, Wrath of the Lich King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 21:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17496044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niveously/pseuds/glitchbugs





	Frost Shock

"Do we know 'em?" Vorous whispers straight into Khovan's ear, making him flinch and wave at the other troll to keep his distance. It doesn't do much, though, as that hunter has no sense of personal space. In fact, he just shifts a bit to put his hand on Khovan's shoulder, leaning in to follow his line of sight.

"Yes," Khovan replies, not taking his eyes off of the orc band riding past them on rugged dire wolves, armed to the teeth and without a banner.

"Do we like 'em?" Vorous whispers again, and before Khovan has a chance to answer him, the sound of a bow string vibrating is followed by a stinging, burning sensation in Khovan's shoulder. He stumbles backwards at the impact, grunting, looking at the arrow sticking out of his flesh. He reaches his hand up to it on instinct, but gets it swatted away by Vorous who isn't slow on putting his hands on him again, pulling him backwards.

"Nope, nope, definitely not, we dun like 'em," the hunter rambles, voice cracking a bit as he looks from the arrow to the orcs - now coming towards them, the warrior's battle cries echoing through the woods and the hunters loading their bows. Khovan grunts in annoyance and shrugs Vorous' hands off of him. He stands up and rubs his hands together, his fingers quickly growing numb as frozen water surrounds his palms in a shimmer. Usually he would avoid blood spill just from a passing caravan, but he didn't strike first and the corrupted fel orcs have no place in the whole of both Azeroth and the Outlands combined. While Khovan is a solitary troll, the enemies of his allies are his enemies, too. And the Mag'har have been ill treated by the fel orcs for too long.

"Show me your aim, hunter," Khovan rumbles before jumping forward, towards the approaching blood red orcs, slamming his palms to the ground as he lands. The frost spreads more like a wildfire than anything else, cracking loudly as it grows to freeze the orcs in place. Behind him, Vorous has already put three arrows into his crossbow, releasing them with immaculate aim as soon as Khovan's hit the ground. The arrows sing right past his head and hits two orcs in the throat and one straight in the eye, making them fall to the ground either lifeless or gasping for air.

"Okay, can we keep it at a distance dis ti- Khovan you be doing it again, come on, mon," Vorous croaks, voice a little shaky while his hands stay as steady as ever as he prepares his crossbow for the next hit. Khovan is already running towards the fel orcs, mouth breaking out into a menacing grin around his tusks. He gets his palms together to form a globe of cold energy before launching it at the approaching warriors, successfully sending them flying backwards. On his side, Vorous' arrows keep singing past him in even patterns, bringing orcs down, and their numbers are rapidly decreasing.

It looks like the fel orcs are starting to hesitate, considering retreat, when Khovan hears a grunt from behind him. He turns to look over his shoulder and sees Vorous down on one knee, head bowed, a hand pressing into his stomach. There's an arrow poking out of him, blood drippling down the thin wood. Khovan sees red.

"I will call upon Bwonsamdi," Khovan says as he turns back to the red orcs, his dark eyes staring at them without flinching. His voice drips with fury. "I will call upon Bwonsamdi," he repeats, "and bring 'im your corpses to guard for eternity," he rumbles, stretching to his full height and pulling a wooden totem out of his traveling bag. He throws the totem with all he has, making it pierce the ground in the middle of the caravan. There's a second of bright light before two ghost wolves appear, wasting no time to sink their teeth into the fel orcs, moving their attention away from the trolls.

Khovan turns, then, running over to squat next to Vorous. He grabs him by the neck and pulls him backwards, making him uncurl from his hunched over position. There's blood everywhere and Vorous hisses in pain.

"You need to pull it out," Khovan says, rage still being the prominent tone in his voice, mixed with something that has to be worry. Vorous tries to muster a grim chuckle, but ends up groaning and knitting his eyebrows together. "I know dat," he replies, and wraps his fingers around the arrow. He mumbles something under his breath, curses and swears if Khovan has to guess. "So do it. Pull it out an' stay awake," Khovan barks.

The hunter takes a deep breath before ripping the arrow out of himself, throwing his to the side in pain, nuzzling his face into Khovan's chest. "Lukou," he whispers, closing his eyes and leaning down towards Vorous. He feels the presence of the Loa in his veins, feels the even, soothing breathing of Lukou's healing powers. Green wisps and smoke appear on his hand as he places his palm over the wound in Vorous' stomach.

"Ow ow ow," Vorous chants, twisting so much that his tusks point into Khovan's chest, but the shaman lets him be. The wound in his stomach stops bleeding after a bit, the wound closing up more and more with each passing second. Khovan dares to open his eyes then, dismissing Lukou and promising a sacrifice for later. The fight by the road has died down, the caravan and the wolves long gone. All that remain is blood and corpses.

"You have magic hands, dude," Vorous sighs when the pain passes, still nuzzling his face into Khovan's chest. "Literally," he adds, snickering to himself, and Khovan just rolls his eyes. It's typical for that hunter. To take the first chance he gets to be ridiculous.

"C'mon," Khovan says, rising to his feet and pulling Vorous with him. He puts the hunter's arm over the back of his neck to support him until he can walk on his own.


End file.
